


Rub 'til it bleeds

by the_other_lutece_sister



Series: propunk one-shots [2]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/F, F/M, Murder, Smut, propunk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7199417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel Duncan kills a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rub 'til it bleeds

**Author's Note:**

> Pure wish fulfillment for the S.4 finale

 

Rachel gazed into the mirror as she slowly ran the soft red brush over her lips. Thank god her hands were steady enough now. The past months had been a nightmare of other people’s hands on her, but now she could bathe herself again, apply her own makeup. Her nails gleamed silver. The black blazer fitted snugly. She already felt sharper, faster, _better._

 

Everything had to be perfect today.

 

A knock on the door came and Rachel tore herself away from her reflection. Grasping her cane, she made her way to the door, practising a warm smile. She opened the door to find Ferdinand beaming at her from behind a tray with a silver cover.

 

“Room service,” he announced, cocking an eyebrow suggestively.

 

Rachel let the smile bloom across her face. It was almost too easy.

 

“Ferdinand.” she murmured. “It has been far too long.” She opened the door wider. “Do come in.”

 

She allowed him to fawn over her for a while - she had to admit, the adoration was a tonic. Being locked away on that island with no power and no one to wield it over...destroying Evie Cho had only been the beginning of her rise back to the top. She closed her eyes and savoured the memory of the woman's face, the exact moment when she had realised she had _lost_ and Rachel had _won._ The image of her devastation did more to warm Rachel’s heart than any declaration of love from Ferdinand, a declaration she was terribly afraid was going to happen any moment.

 

He trailed after her as she moved into the bedroom, then, when he was in the right position, Rachel shoved him in the back with her cane, toppling him onto the bed. He made a noise that was half startled yelp, half anticipatory moan.

 

“Crawl.” she ordered. “Forward.”

She aimed the cane at the back of his thighs, swinging it hard enough to make a _thwack_ when he didn’t move fast enough. Maybe she wasn’t ready to go dancing quite yet, but her arm muscles had certainly benefitted from all that physical therapy. The pained noises that Ferdinand was making amused her but...the usual thrill of control was lacking. Her mind flicked to Sarah Manning and their recent encounter, and she gripped the top of the cane compulsively.

 

Ah. _There_ was the heat.

 

She walked around the bed and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“How much did you miss me, bijou?”

And then immediately switched off as he began listing the various depths of his longing and loneliness and misery without her. She lifted her eyes to the TV remote on the bedside table, then back to the still-blathering Ferdinand.

 

“That’s enough.” Rachel snapped. “Turn over.”

He rolled over onto his back, watching her with hooded eyes. Her eyes flicked downwards, and she smirked slightly when she saw he was already hard. Shaking her head, she fetched the handcuffs from a drawer.

“I see you have not yet learned self control, Ferdinand.” she tutted exaggeratingly as she clicked the cuffs around his wrists and attached them to the bed head.

 

“Now..” she purred, “..close your eyes.”

He obeyed. She watched him for a moment, then leaned the cane against the bed end and unbuttoned her blazer. Watching herself undress in the mirror had the same effect on her it had always had. The pale skin emerging from the dark clothing, the beautifully expensive black lace bra under the chaste whiteness of her shirt, the symmetrical contours of her collar bones, the perfection of her small, round breasts - she ran a hand down her own body, revelling in the smoothness of her skin, the curve of her hip, her hands moved upwards again and cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples lightly and studying the slight blush that rose on her cheeks.

 

She dropped her gaze back down to the bed and found Ferdinand staring at her, a kind of worshipful awe on his face. _As he should,_ she thought.

 

Shaking her head, she paused in her self-examination and picked up her cane again, tapping it on her palm. Sarah flashed through her head again.

“I told you-” _thwack_ “..to close…” _thwack_ “..your eyes.”

He flinched slightly and his eyes snapped shut.

“Good boy.”

Rachel continued disrobing. When she was left in just her bra and knickers, she twisted and turned for a moment, examining the shape of her legs, the roundness of her arse. She smiled, the red lips like a smear of blood. There had been times, back in the early days of her time on the island, when she simply wished to die. Being trapped in her dysfunctional body, locked up in her room, stuck on an island. Boxes within boxes within boxes…

But now, she could glory in her body again, enjoy the beauty of it and the pleasure it gave her.

 

She met her own eyes and slid her hand down the front of her knickers. The perfect red lips parted in the mirror as she watched her hand move through the black lace. She thought about Sarah Manning twirling the cane in her hands, the way she had leaned over Rachel, the dark-rimmed eyes boring into her own. A stab of pleasure ran through her.

 

She climbed onto the bed, making her way up the length of Ferdinand's body, arching herself so only her arms and legs brushed against him. He moaned softly and tried to raise himself up to touch her but she pressed him back down, silver nails leaving a red trail down his chest.

 

In a husky voice, Rachel said “I think you’ve been a very bad boy while I was gone, Ferdinand. Sleeping with the enemy, so to speak.”

 

His eyes snapped open, his face shocked.

“Rachel, I assure you, there has been no one but you, there _is_ no one but you…”

 

“Really.” she said dryly, leaning sideways and picking up the TV remote. “Then please explain - this.”

 

The TV on the wall opposite the bed flared into life and Ferdinand heard his own voice say, “Who’s a dirty clone?” Rachel-not-Rachel replying “You are.” His heart sank.

 

“I can explain…” he was cut off by Rachel slapping his face with the full force of her strength.

 

“You can explain?” Her voice was cold with fury. “You can _explain_ how Sarah Manning _tricked_ you? You can _explain_ how you were _fooled_ by tacky make-up and a cheap wig?” Her words were punctuated by more slaps, right-left, right-left. “You can _explain_ how you thought a tramp in my clothes was _me?”_ She watched the security footage for a moment and shook her head, deeply disappointed.

“She doesn’t even _walk_ like me, Ferdinand. How can you possibly -” _slap “-_ explain this?”

 

He stuttered, trying to think his way out of the corner he’d backed himself into.

“I...I just wanted you so badly...it had been so long… and it never occurred to me that…”

 

Rachel sighed. “It never occurred to you. And there we have it.”

 

“Rachel…” he said, pleadingly. “Please...I have been so very bad. Please. Punish me, Rachel. Make me pay.”

 

Rachel nodded. He was going to pay, alright. She slithered off the bed and gave him a disdainful look, raking her eyes down his body and noting he was no longer quite as excited as he previously was.

 

“The problem is, Ferdinand, how can I ever possibly trust you again?” she talked as she stripped the belt from his pants, doubling it and slapping it against her palm.

“I trusted you once, and then you made a fool of yourself _and_ me. I can not abide with this.”

She swung the belt several times in quick succession, the paused to admire the bright red stripes marking his torso. She considered for a moment, then switched the belt around so the buckle was on the business end. Rachel swung the belt again, eliciting pained sounds as Ferdinand tried desperately to muffle his screams. This time she had drawn blood. She touched the tip of a finger to one of the cuts and dabbed the blood on her tongue. It tasted hot and coppery, like pain and fear, like _power._

 

“The amusing thing is,” Rachel stated, as she moved back onto the bed, “That Sarah and I...we have a common goal now. How things change.” She laughed, mockingly.

 

She laced the belt around his neck, pulling the loop tight.

“And you, I’m afraid...are out.”

She pulled it tighter.

“I’m going to finish what Sarah Manning started,” she purred into his ear.

He couldn’t form any intelligible words anymore, just gasps and gurgles. On the screen, Rachel-not-Rachel swaggered, she poured bourbon, she sat on Ferdinand's back and pulled a belt tight around his neck.

 

On the bed, Rachel Duncan pulled the belt tighter, tighter, staying upright as the man bucked beneath her. She met her gaze in the mirror, noting the flush above her breasts, the brightness of her eyes. She wondered if killing a man always made you look this radiant. She’d been the cause of death before, she knew, but this was the first time she had caused it with her own hands. It was a - different kind of pleasure.

Pulling her gaze away from her own reflection reluctantly, she glanced down at Ferdinand. His face was a deep, deep red now, almost purple. One last gasp escaped his lips, then she watched curiously as the life dimmed in his eyes. Then they were just blank, and he was just a mass of dead meat.

 

Rachel sat back, her arms aching. Everything had gone as perfectly as she’d hoped. But she was still somewhat unsatisfied. She moved to the edge of the bed, and pressed the rewind button on the remote. She slipped her hand down her knickers again as she watched Rachel-not-Rachel move around her apartment, wearing her clothes, sliding her feet into her heels. All the tiny discrepancies were obvious to her, but it just heightened her arousal. Sarah may have my face but she will never be _me,_ she can _never_ be me.

She thought about Rachel-not-Rachel standing over her, twirling the cane, using it to move her legs apart. She thought about standing over Rachel-not-Rachel, wrapping her hand around her neck and kissing her, biting her lip until it bled. She thought about the two of them, in her bed, not even knowing which was which anymore. She thought about her own face, lips open in ecstasy beneath her. She watched Rachel-not-Rachel tighten the belt and she came violently, hissing between her teeth.

 

As she made her way to the bathroom to take a shower, her eyes fell on what had been Ferdinand, and she felt nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Speak, I'm listening  
> Baby, I'm your sweet thing  
> Believe what I'm saying  
> God's truth, I'm not lying
> 
> I lie steady  
> Rest your head on me  
> I'll smooth it nicely  
> Rub it better 'till it bleeds
> 
> And you'll believe me  
> Caught out again  
> I'm calling you weak  
> Getting even
> 
> And I, I was joking  
> Sweet babe, let me stroke it  
> Take, I'm giving  
> God's truth, I'm not lying
> 
> And you'll believe me  
> I, I, I'm calling you in  
> And I'll make it better  
> I'll rub 'till it bleeds  
> \- PJ Harvey


End file.
